Sand and Cigarettes
by goldfishlover73
Summary: Now that the sand, and the grime is gone, what is left of Roy, of them. Roy/Maes Rating just to be safe.


This is the strangest story, on my part.  
It was _suppose_ to be for fma_fic_contest's promt 64 "touch/touching", but I couldn't get to to be short enough.  
So I'll post it here instead!  
The other strange part is it's a Roy/Maes story...which I'm not a big FMA yaoi fan. But whatever.  
I don't own FMA!

III

"This…this isn't working Roy. Stop…let's just…Roy." Roy practically jumped at his words, as he watched Maes clamber off him. He watched, wide-eyed as Maes sat up, bringing his knees up and setting his elbows on them as he ran a his left hand through his hair and fished for his glasses off the end table with his right. Roy felt his stomach drop as Maes remained quite, eyes narrowing and brows furrow. Roy wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch the smooth skin of his best friends back. It looks so enticing the way the moonlight reflected off the muscles that twitch as Maes shifted in the bed, sheet pooling at his hips.

It had been a long time since Roy had felt anything that wasn't gritty, dirty, or grimy. They had only been back from Ishbal for a few weeks and this was the first time since their first night back they had been…"together."

Roy knew it was going to be different. Once they had left the hot, desolate wasteland of the east, it wouldn't be the same. As Roy watched Maes peer at him, before slowing edging towards the opposite side of the bed, Roy felt a lump grow in his throat as he looked down at his calloused hands, almost wishing for the war again.

III

He had been in Ishbal three weeks and had already killed thirty-seven people; nineteen men fourteen women and four children (three boys and one girl). He had stopped trying to scrub the gritty sand out of his hair, off his skin, and the blood that stained his hands. He felt numb, barely being able to eat, drink or sleep. The only thing keeping him sane was his cigarettes. (A rare gift for the state alchemist, even more so for the foot soldiers.) Roy inhaled, feeling the warm nicotine fill his lungs. It helped calm his nerves and helped him unwind, and for six minutes he savored his smoke, he was able to forget the sweat, the sand, spark gloves and the blood that stuck to his hands.

It was three weeks before he saw a "friendly face." He almost cried when he spotted Maes through the crowd of soldiers. From that moment on, they were together, catching up (Roy almost cried when he heard about Maes' promotion), or even listening to Maes ramble on about his girl back home (anything to get his mind off the desert was a welcome relief, no matter how annoying it could be).

It was another two days before Maes found out about Roy's secret stash of cigarettes. He begged Roy "to be a pal and hook him up," only to have Roy pull out his gloves and glare. It was another week before, for some unknown reason to a god that Roy didn't believe in; Maes started appearing out of nowhere when Roy would light up. Two days until Roy agreed to _share_, letting Maes come to his hiding place: behind a rock near the state alchemist tents.

During these seven minutes, he felt more at ease since this hellish war started. This was the only time he or Maes ever talked about the front lines. Six months in, he had killed three hundred and forty one Ishbalians. Between the Cigarettes and the confessions between friends, Roy felt the weight on his shoulders a chip away.

"One more Roy, come on." Maes gave him a pleading grin, making the Flame Alchemist roll his eyes.

Roy flipped the box open and sighed, "One more and that means I only have two more to get me through the week…which is another four days." Roy jumped as warm, calloused hands brushed his quickly, leaving his hands cold and empty. "Give those back!"

"Hey! There are four in here! You trying to hold out on me! Your best friend? Roy Mustang, you hurt me so!"

Roy ignored him as he snatched the box back, "Don't be a dumbass, _I_ only have two because _you'll_ come and take my other two! You're a shitty best friend." Roy sneered, before looking at his crumbled box, absently flipping the box open and closed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the sand blow in the wind. Roy felt his uniform clung awkwardly to his body. "Naw, I'm a good friend. The best there is." Roy looked over at Maes, who gave him with a cheesy grin before they both burst out laughing. Roy didn't understand how they went from laughing to kissing, but Roy moaned as Maes' hands went hair, pulling hard.

He tasted like tobacco, sand and sweat, the things Roy wanted to desperately remove from his own body, he relished on Maes. As he worked to get Maes' uniform off, he started kissing down his neck, lapping up all the sand encrusted sweat, melting into Maes' arms under the desert sun.

III

Roy loved the feeling of someone, of _Maes_ on him, brushing away the gritty sand that Roy himself could not scrub away. He sighed as Maes kissed him, stripped him, and claimed him on his bed. It made the war bearable. When their fingers brushed as they passed the cigarette, the flame alchemist's heart would leap. As he would watch Maes' lips on the rolled paper, watching the vast emptiness in front of them, he licked his own, seeing the other man watch him from the corner of his eye and grin before dubbing the cigarette out before turning his head and threading his fingers through the hair on the back of Roy's neck and kiss him lazily, Roy almost moaned.

Roy was able to smile during the war. He had something to look forward to, had something to hope for. Something else besides the useless killings, something that made him feel human, feel _real_. Roy pressed his hands flat on Maes' chest, feeling beneath the grit, soft skin, he felt his chest expand, a small smile form on his lips and his whole body feel warm.

But as they left the desert, the warmth Roy felt drained away. The girl Maes chatted on and on about when he first arrived in the desert was suddenly real, standing at the train station in Central, waiting for _his_ solider to come back. He felt the warmth of Maes' arm around his shoulder leave as he dashed towards the girl, wrapping her up the arms that once held him.

Roy saw Maes' later that night, sneaking into the barracks.

"Roy…" he felt his warm hand on his back. Roy made his breathing as deep and even as possible, keeping his eyes clamped tight. He felt Maes' hand move with his back, before it trailed up his back, and through his hair before the warmth left him. He heard the footsteps move away from his bed and small scuffling noises as his roommate move onto his own bed. It was only when he heard the soft sounds of snoring did Roy open his eyes, and let his body shake as he bit his lip, will the tears in his eyes not to fall.

III

"This is over…isn't it?" Roy couldn't look away from his hands. His breathing was deep, forcing each word to come out without his voice wavering.

He felt the bed dip as he felt a warm body envelop him in a half hug. "Roy…I…This is-"

"Don't bother explaining." Roy tried his best to sound indifferent. He almost was. This wasn't the same Maes. His skin was soft, too soft. There was no grit from the mixture of sand and sweat. He smelled _sweet_, not like the desert; or war. His natural _Maes_ smell had been washed away by soaps and clean water. He watched his own hands: the blood was still there, something he knew he could never was off, but they were less calloused than before, _they_ were soft.

He swallowed hard, plastered a smile and felt his heart drop as he looked at his friend, "Go on, Maes. Get out of here." He nudged him slightly. He ignored the small tingle that was left at the spot of contact when he moved away.

Maes gave him a soft smile, one that Roy didn't see in eyes. The bed dipped again as he watched Maes collect his things and head for the door.

"I'm really sorry, Roy." He whispered, hand on the door knob.

Roy forced a laugh. "What happens in the desert stays? Go be the 'family man.'"

Maes smiled warmly before opening the door, leaving Roy in the smooth, cold sheets.  
III  
AN: So it didn't turn out quite the way I wanted it to. But It's good for the first slash I've written in a few years.  
It'll do, pig.  
I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
